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Rating:
The first time I heard about these The Roots was when their single "the seed 2.0" was in heavy rotation on the FM stations of the Western world and perhaps elsewhere. I later read Zion's excellent review on what I believe was their debut album, and I promised myself to give it a listen as soon as possible.
Recently, drifting in inconclusive thoughts that were gladly accompanied by the very cheesy jingles of a shopping mall, I spotted the "rounded" case (those new ones with rounded corners, and with a booklet that doesn't get destroyed when pulling it out) and the beautiful cover you see at the top right.
That I am completely alien to hip hop as a social and musical culture seems to be a necessary premise as a key to reading my writing; I detest its image but particularly appreciate its influences and contaminations. In the case of these The Roots, who as the name suggests are a virtual bridge between past black music, the roots, and current hip hop from a fundamentally intellectual perspective. To the MC is added a complete ensemble including the inevitable DJ, but also guitar, bass, and drums.
"Never Do What They Do" was (and is) their categorical imperative, a manifest detachment from the contemporary hip hop scene, completely philosophically alien from what this ensemble aims (to propose).
Syncopated beats "from the basement", sound blended made of polyrhythms as well as rhythmic obsessions, (strictly played by the drummer/producer) funk guitar riffs, synths, and occasional contribution of jazz/soul-flavored horns. The focus of the sound canvas of the album is therefore equally found in the flow and rhymes as in the music; a base, but not necessarily a simple background.
In an America internationally increasingly in the background politically, discovering it has lived beyond its means at the sight of the hefty bill every crisis as such demands, and moreover on the razor's edge of tradition opposed to probably necessary change, the The Roots (and numerous featuring artists) respond by accelerating the bpm and focusing on the frustrated invective of those tired spectators of their own impotence.
The coordinates are all in a modern and crepuscular hip-hop pierced by coldly existential electronics. The title track relies on beats dear to the old school and a resigned minor arpeggio, the rhymes flow, taking stock of the situation with passionate intensity, then giving way to the frantic scratches and tracked drums of "Get Busy".
The lyrics avoid genre stereotypes, limiting the f-bombs to the exacerbation of the negative mood that can be felt from the first to the last track of an album that makes its homogeneity a very positive compactness of intentions.
Therefore, I find it difficult to underline the highlights, as the tracks are very successful and reveal their peculiarities through repeated listening. Honorable mention to the tracks placed at the end, "The Show" and its instrumental closing which finds its effectiveness in synthesis, and the only episode that breaks away from the shadows of the album, the single "Rising Up" placed at the end: the cure after the poisoning.
In this essentially lean 2008, I believe that an excellent production, (sweat and refinement) and a lot of genuine inspiration can dissipate the curtain of mistrust towards musical shores generally rarely frequented on these pages. Hip-hop enthusiasts, I believe, can finally pop the bottle they were saving for great occasions, it's time at least for a toast.
Tracklist and Lyrics
05 75 Bars (Black's Reconstruction) (03:15)
I’m from the land of the straight razor face beard niggaz with hammers on their waist, yeah ta waste weird niggaz
and erase scared niggaz, them snake head niggaz
the take care o' niggaz who don’t break bread wit us
niggaz make dead niggaz, and hate black niggaz
brown niggaz high yellow niggaz and them red niggaz
no telling when that bullet comin be prepared niggaz
cause when it do its comin land sea and air niggaz
that’s everywhere niggaz am I the mutherfucking legendary? yeah niggaz
make it very clear niggaz, been looking at y’all in my rearview
mirror niggaz, wanna be a millionare I’m already there niggaz
I’m a debonaire nigga, A bear taking more than my share Looka here yeah I know it aint fair nigga. neither is a bald eagle wit a hair trigger
haystack try to find a needle up in there nigga leave u up in there nigga
show me the puppet that don’t need a puppeteer nigga shed another tear nigga
I’m the field with a shield and a spear nigga,
I’m in your girl with her heels in the air nigga
I am such a rare nigga, You in a battle telling me you not ready
like u figured imma bare wit cha! I don’t care nigga!
you now listenin to the sounds of the money makin jam trillionares nigga
gentlemen of an extraordinary league, you never see me blowin on no ordinary weed
what I’m smoking aint a product of no ordinary seed, your boy is heavy treed
I’m feelin merry as a Tyler perry scene mad monetary gangrene
We tried to launder the cash, it never came clean
So now I’m in the story with all them cats before me in smoke pergutory for doin the same thing
And them niggaz aint change, them niggaz cant change
your moms shake her head say it’s such a dang shame
the train to the bus and then another dang plane?
my stage and my government they aint the same name
I’m a rockstar loving it my wallet chain hang
Im a rider they was sayin, I’m a modern day kang.
My definition I can finally explain, cold smooth like that dude sean connery was playin
I just gotta be the man I’m the father figure and
when I spit it its something like a psychology exam, if you stand where I stood you can
probably understand how that mic feelin like a million dollars in my hand
its the silence of the lambs, go and cop another gram ta twist with your zanny, percoset
percodan what's your networking plan?
you better look alive cause them niggaz outside looking desperate again nigga
and the blunts and liquor killin my lungs and liver
the athsmatic drug addict I function wit it
I put a rapper in a hole where the dunce was sittin for spittin a played out pattern that once was hittin
I got news for you all, let me show you how to ball
See the legendary fall? I aint heard of that
Yall niggaz is of the wall like arsenio hall
I’m a put you right back where the dirt is at
450 farenheit pon the thermostat
somebody stalkin like da white jawn Bernadette
but she's not an earner yet, she couldn’t put in no work for Nat Burner yet
the black micriphone murder vet, im in a class of my own if I got beef with you you're the last one to know, I arrive on time I’m never fashionable
you late I’m already internationable
I done twirled berlin banged in bejing
you never seen nothing cant say the same
tell somebody black thought yeah you know the name ring
so give him the game ring, for bringin what them niggaz cant bring
my hutsle is long my muscle is strong my man put the paper in the duffle I’m gone
yall still a light year from the level I’m on
just a pawn stepping right into the head of the storm you've been warned, I will blow you niggaz into centigrade I’m a rebel, renegade must stay paid
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